


On My Sticky Lips

by deathlybijoumme



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley, Bottoming from the Top, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Food Kink, Genderqueer Character, Intersex Character, Light Sadism, M/M, Other, POC Aziraphale, POC Crowley, Pet Names, Sex with Clothes On, Top Aziraphale, Valentine's Day, Voluntary Feminization, Whipped Cream, french maid outfit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlybijoumme/pseuds/deathlybijoumme
Summary: Crowley on occasion, approves of over commercialized garbage beyond his job. One such occasion is on Valentine's Day.





	On My Sticky Lips

  It had been a silly Idea, really. A joke, Crowley told himself. He'd been dithering around in shop the previous week, looking around for some good blues CDs, when he'd seen an advert for a visual novel that gave him the idea. Again, it wasn't serious at all[1]. Just a silly idea.

  And yet, here he was, walking into his ~~friend's- partner's-~~  into Aziraphale's shop,  going through with the idea. The eyes of passersby skipped right over him as he exited the Bentley, long black coat, tinted glasses, and all. He wasn't in the mood to be bothered most of the time over his fashion of dress and he especially wasn't in that mood right now. They could get antsy over someone else with dark skin. 

  Aziraphale didn't even look up when he entered. "Any particular reason why you're bothering me during shop hours, dear?" 

  "You expect me to remember your shop hours?" Crowley said with a cocked eyebrow. His heart beat started to speed up, just a little. Was this a bad idea? "The ones that you clearly pay a drunk pair of dice to set?"

  Aziraphale's head snapped up to frown at him, his usually faintly pretty features twisting. Crowley smiled with a bit of cheek, and took his dark glasses off to clean them on his coat. He lifted the fabric maybe a little more than necessary, letting Aziraphale get a fair chance of seeing his black nylons.

  “Anyways, Alice[2],” he continued, “it’s possible that I simply wanted to see you. After all, don’t you know what day it is?”

  “Thursday.”

   “No, no no.” Crowley put his glasses back on, exasperated. Aziraphale clearly had not seen them. “Correct, but not the answer I'm looking for. I’ll give you a hint; pink.” Crowley pointed to his mouth as he said it, which was indeed, sporting a dark shade of pink. 

  Aziraphale’s brow knitted. “Pink.”

   “Yes, pink. Pink and over-commercialization.” Crowley paused a second, thinking about a box that had just so happened to appear in his hand behind his back. “And chocolate.”

  Aziraphale's features twisted more, this time in concentration rather than irritation. He fiddled with a ring on his finger for awhile, but when it was clear he wasn't going to get it on his own, Crowley broke the silence. 

  “Valentine’s Day, angel.”

  Aziraphale's mouth made a small O.  “I apologize dear, I… I completely forgot." Aziraphale got up from behind his desk and pressed an apologetic kiss to Crowley's cheek. "Did you want to do something? I can close up the shop if you do.”

   "It's fine. I actually thought we could stay in." Crowley popped open the first two buttons on his coat, showing off his slender throat. Aziraphale noticed, his dark olive skin tinting with the appropriate color for the holiday. “Perhaps we could break out a nice red? I got some chocolates for us to share.” 

  "Which kind?" Aziraphale asked.

  Crowley crossed his arms. "The good kind." 

  Aziraphale sighed, mentally making note to get one of his better wines in hopes that that would help in the face of the all too likely possibility that whatever Crowley had gotten was expensive, but completely horrible. He went to the door and flipped the sign to read "CLOSED" in large, looping letters. “Shall we?” he asked, walking to the back room.

   Crowley adjusted his coat slightly and followed. He settled onto the aged sofa in Aziraphale’s back room with a practiced ease, setting the large blue and silver box [3] in his lap. Aziraphale went over to his wine rack and carefully selected one that he hoped would pair well.

  "Angel?" 

  "Yes?" Aziraphale had busied himself with uncorking the bottle. 

  “Which wine are you choosing?” Crowley fiddled with the buttons on his coat again and took his glasses off. No asking. Just... doing. Let it happen naturally. 

  “A ‘61 red, one of my best.” Aziraphale poured out a glass and handed it to Crowley. He took a sip. Though Crowley knew next to nothing about wine [4], he could tell that this was a very good wine indeed. Aziraphale poured a glass for himself and sat next to Crowley. Crowley lazily stretched his legs over Aziraphale’s lap, and popped the lid off the box. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and examined the treat Crowley had brought with him. Most of it was small, square shaped chocolates, some of which had a flavor or country printed on them in white. Aziraphale ignored those and picked up a red heart.

  Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had even noticed that he was wearing heels. He’d expected some kind of comment on them, and had been bracing himself. 

  “Why don’t you take off your coat?” Aziraphale finally asked, after thinking for awhile on how to not be rude. “If you’re cold I can just fix the thermostat for you.” [5]

  Crowley relaxed and swallowed the mouthful of wine he’d been drinking. “No need, I’ll just take my coat off.” He withdrew his legs from Aziraphale’s lap, putting the box on the coffee table, and undid the buttons of his coat. 

  Aziraphale watched with a vague interest as a dark pink shirt collar appeared… and disappeared. Aziraphale felt his face flush. Crowley noticed and slowed his unbuttoning a bit. Another piece of fabric began two buttons later, black with white lace this time. More dark pink again. Crowley stood and let his coat drop to the floor.

  Aziraphale’s face was now a lovely deep coral color as he saw what Crowley was wearing in its entirety. Frothy white and grey lace peeked out from a short black skirt trimmed with more white lace, which was cut up one side to provide a peek of the petticoats themselves. A bow with a fabric rose in the middle perched atop the slash, and a dark pink apron was trimmed with more roses in black and red. The bodice was cut into a deep heart neckline, and it was trimmed with yet more lace. Crowley’s gloves were opera length, and ended with ribbons and a single fabric rose. 

  Aziraphale’s mouth felt dry. He took a healthy sip of wine. There were more details he hadn’t fully categorized, but he had gotten the idea.

  “You look…” he started. He watched Crowley’s expression carefully. Without his glasses, he became absurdly easy to read. Right now he was waiting. Tense, perhaps. “...wonderful.” Aziraphale finished, still not sure it was the right adjective.

Crowley relaxed and surreptitiously kicked his coat under the table. “Anything else?” he said, trying to sound unbothered. 

  “I am wondering ‘why a maid?’, but...”

 Crowley smiled. “Let me show you, ‘why a maid’, Aziraphale.” He flicked his wrist in a circle in the air and a can of whipped cream suddenly materialized in it. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the flippancy. 

  Crowley took his hand and squirted a fair amount out onto Aziraphale’s hand. For a second Aziraphale’s brow wrinkled in vague confusion and disgust, and then went he went deeply flushed again as Crowley licked it off his fingers, flicking the end of his snake-like tongue against his fingertips. 

  “See, Alice, you may not know this, but maids are good at cleaning things up.” Crowley sat in Aziraphale’s lap. He brushed his finger over the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, picking up a tiny piece of chocolate that had settled there. He licked it off his finger. Aziraphale groaned. 

  “Crowley…” 

  “Yes?” Crowley asked, feigning innocence. 

Aziraphale licked his lips. “I’m going to wreck you.” He stuck his hand underneath the frothy layers of fabric and pulled Crowley closer to him, feeling along Crowley’s underwear. It had a soft, silken texture to it. Crowley whined in frustration and made to kiss Aziraphale, but the angel caught his chin. 

 “Aziraphale[6].” Crowley said crossly.

  “Yes?” Aziraphale asked before kissing Crowley. Crowley arched into Aziraphale happily, enjoying the feel of a rather obvious effort the angel was making beneath him. Crowley ground his hips on Aziraphale’s lap, making him gasp into Crowley’s mouth. The hand resting on his chin moved to his hair, and Aziraphale curled his fingers around it, his nails scraping against Crowley’s scalp in a way that made the demon gasp in turn. The hand on his ass moved from under his skirt to undo the back of his dress and push the bodice down. Crowley pulled back from the kiss and made to help Aziraphale pull his clothes off, but Aziraphale stopped his hands. “Not yet, dear.”

Aziraphale took the whipped cream can from behind Crowley and squirted a small amount of cream onto Crowley's nipple. Crowley snorted a little at first, but began to to moan as Aziraphale licked his chest clean. Aziraphale left a last kiss on a thin scar on that side of Crowley’s chest before switching sides and giving his other nipple the same treatment. Crowley arched forwards into Aziraphale’s mouth, breathing hard. 

  Aziraphale pulled back. “You may be dressed like a maid, but you seem awfully messy for one,  _ mademoiselle _ .” He wiped up a stray bit of cream and sucked it off his finger. 

 “Oh, is that so?” Crowley swiped the can from Aziraphale and rose onto his knees, squirting the cream directly into Aziraphale's mouth before kissing him. Aziraphale made a variety of startled noises, with his hands fluttering from Crowley's hips to his shoulders like nervous birds. Crowley dropped the can behind Aziraphale's head and used his hands instead to deepen the kiss, drawing a muffled moan from Aziraphale.

  Aziraphale's hands finally settled on what they were doing when Crowley had licked most of the cream out of his mouth. They disappeared under Crowley's petticoats again, removing both of their respective underwear. He put his hands on Crowley's hips. Crowley pulled away from kissing him to catch his breath.  Aziraphale’s glasses had been knocked askew on his face from how Crowley had kissed him. He straightened them. Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s hips down slowly, slowly. His fingernails dug into Aziraphale’s shoulders, leaving shallow scratches in their wake. Aziraphale let out a steadying breath when he was fully inside of Crowley. He moved slowly, letting them fall into an easy rhythm of hips meeting hips. Crowley took over that after awhile, leaving Aziraphale’s hands free for other things. 

   Crowley’s head fell back when Aziraphale began touching his clit. 

   “Talk to me, dearest.” Aziraphale said softly.

  Crowley groaned. His fingernails were getting longer, more claw like, and they were absolutely shredding Aziraphale’s poor shirt. The sharp bite of pain felt very very good on Aziraphale's nerves in that moment.“I love it when you fuck me.”

  Aziraphale’s fingers stuttered. “What do you like so much about it?” 

  Crowley hissed, slowing his pace. “I… I like the way you-” he bit his lip. He may have slowed down but Aziraphale certainly hadn't. “Fuck, angel, do you want me to come already?” he whispered.

 “That's my business. Go on.”

 “When you touch me,” Crowley tried, “like- oh, like that, _please_ , pleassse more like  _ that _ \- it makesss me feel like there'sss no one elsssse.” He buried his face into the side of Aziraphale's neck. “When you hold me- even, even when you hold me tightly,” he moaned into Aziraphale's shoulder, “I feel sssafe, Alice.” Crowley moved his hands from Aziraphale's shoulders and began peeling away his ruined dress shirt. He kissed the top of his breast before licking at the tender skin around the scratches he’d left. “You are the only perssson I can well and truly be myssself around.” He kissed one of the scratches. “Ssssharp parts, ssoft parts… all of it.” 

 Aziraphale tangled one of his hands in Crowley's hair again and pulled him into another kiss. Crowley’s hips speed up again, and they both groaned appreciatively into the kiss.

 Aziraphale leaned to the side and let Crowley's back hit the cushion of the sofa. He pulled back, planting, repositioning.

 “I used to fantasize about fucking you while you were wearing skirts, you know.” he whispered, his gaze suddenly very intense. “In the 1600s, when you ran around in dresses all the time. I thought about just…” 

 Crowley squirmed under that look. He’d suspected as much. “I know.”

 Aziraphale's mouth twitched. “Of course you do.” 

 “What's that- OH!” Crowley cried out and interrupted himself as Aziraphale entered him again. He clawed at Aziraphale's back, gasping as his angel began to fuck him roughly. “Aziraphale…” he whined.

 “Yes?” Aziraphale asked. 

 “I'm.. oh, fuck… I'm going to…”

 Aziraphale kissed him sweetly on the temple, before putting his hand back where Crowley needed it. 

 The cries Crowley let out as he came sounded like music in and of themselves. 

 Aziraphale got off Crowley slowly, suddenly feeling a bit more tired than usual. He examined his shirt, which was shredded as expected, and also faintly bloody. He touched a finger to one of the scratches and winced. It stung, but it wasn't deep.

 Crowley looked at him a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I don't usually… well.” 

 “It's fine, dear.” Aziraphale sighed and hung the shirt on the back of his chair.  Crowley started to make the hand motion that accompanied his “clean this up” thought, but Aziraphale stopped his hand. 

 “I think, dear,” he said, sitting back, “that I'd prefer to look at you like this for a little while.”

 Crowley felt his face flush. “Of course.”

 

* * *

[1] This was what Crowley told himself. A lot. 

[2] Sometime over the centuries, Crowley had taken to calling Aziraphale "Alice" when they were alone. Or at the very least, when they felt safe. 

[3] This box, and the sweets within, was outright shocked to find itself existing in a dingy bookshop, even if it was Crowley that was holding it. This is because France, and everything that comes from it, is a bit snobbish, and these chocolates, with their near thousand dollar price point, considered themselves the height of such snobbery. Crowley knew this, of course, and delighted in their discomfort.

[4] Something he would never admit to, and that only 5 people in the entire of the history of the world knew. 

[5] He’d been cold outside of course, as no amount of outerwear could save him from the chill of winter, and had since warmed up significantly in the bookshop. Aziraphale knew this. He was just having trouble figuring out why Crowley was still wearing his coat and went for the most logical conclusion.

[6] Footnote 2 still withstanding, when annoyed Crowley would either call him Aziraphale, angel (said angrily), or a variety of insults, irregardless of time or place.


End file.
